


Constant Vigilance

by TheVoiceofWrath (meet_your_fate)



Series: 300 Followers Giveaway Fics [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Derek teaches Stiles to defend himself, M/M, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, POV Derek Hale, while also trying to teach him not to run headlong into danger in the first place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meet_your_fate/pseuds/TheVoiceofWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles badgers Derek into teaching him how to handle himself in a fight and, somewhere along the way, Derek maybe falls for Stiles a little bit. Whatever, it's not a big deal. He swears it's nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constant Vigilance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penrai](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=penrai).



> This is for the third prize winner in my giveaway, [penrai](http://penrai.tumblr.com/). I hope you like it, hon! ♥

“I’m a squishy,” Stiles says.

Derek knows. It’s been hard, with the various evils they’ve had to face in the last few months. Stiles is generally some degree of _bruised_ because he refuses to stay back, to keep out of harm’s way. It’s maddening. Not that Derek is going to admit to knowing what a ‘squishy’ is; he takes just a little bit of glee in pretending not to understand Stiles’s nerdy references.

He just blinks at Stiles in response.

“You know, I have my skills, but they don’t really include going toe to toe with the baddie. I wear cloth armor. I break easy,” Stiles says.

“So?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “ _So_ , I want to not be squishy anymore.”

Derek frowns a little bit. “Stiles. Are you asking me for the Bite?”

“What? No, oh my _god_. I mean, not that there’s anything— _No_. I just want to learn how to fight so I can defend myself. I can’t always rely on werewolves to come to my rescue, you know? I mean, if you don’t wanna teach me, I guess I can go to Allison instead,” Stiles says, looking a little dejected.

Derek sighs. “Just stay out of trouble and it won’t be an issue. I don’t have time for self defense classes.”

“Just stay out of trouble? Really? That’s what you’re telling me? You know trouble finds _me_ , right? I don’t actually _want_ to be eaten by mythical creatures or carved up for a witch’s potion or beaten up by mean hunters. I don’t set out intending for those things to happen,” Stiles says. He’s getting madder by the moment and Derek thinks he looks _determined_.

A determined Stiles is a very, very dangerous thing.

“You’re a bench player. You’re  _support_ ; you’ve got no reason to be going toe to toe with bad guys. Stay back, out of the way, and you won’t get hurt. Go home.”

♦

The next time Stiles asks, he’s bleeding and it makes Derek feel a little bad to say no. But, still, the better lesson is for Stiles to just leave this stuff to the werewolves. He’ll just keep running headlong into danger if he doesn’t learn it.

“Come on, man. Are you really gonna make me ask Allison? She scares me a little. She’s scary in that way where she’s all happy and stuff, but then show time comes along and the dimpled smile goes away and her eyes look sharp like _knives_. Like, they’re piercing and _deadly_ in a way brown eyes shouldn't be incapable of and I just—She’d chew me up and spit me out, man.”

Derek’s brow quirks, though he keeps his gaze on the long scratch on Stiles’s arm. He’s cleaning it. It’s not deep, but they’re not sure what kind of supernatural damage might’ve been done. There’s a lot they don’t know, that they have to figure out as they go along. Who knows what kind of magic disease may have been on that thing’s claws? Likely none, Deaton says, but Derek still thinks they should be wary. “Do you think telling me I’m _less_ scary than a teenage girl is going to make me more likely to spend extra time with you?”

“Oh, so that’s how this is? I’m annoying and you don’t wanna spend time with me? I’m hurt, Derek,” Stiles says, pressing his other hand to his chest in feigned offense.

“That’s just it,” Derek says. He finally looks at Stiles’s face so his stern frown comes across to its full effect. “You’re _hurt_. All because you can’t leave the fighting to people who are stronger and faster than you. You’re gonna get yourself killed because you’re _stubborn_. Is that what you really want? Dead at seventeen because you have some kind of point to prove that you can play with the big kids? You’re not a werewolf; quit trying to keep up with us.”

Stiles purses his lips, but that determined look is still in his eyes. “I see what you’re trying to do here. I’m onto you, dude. But this isn’t about keeping up with werewolves. If that’s what I wanted, I really would ask for the Bite. I’m not stupid. I just wanna have a slightly better chance of not dying when there aren’t any werewolves around to save my ass.”

Derek has no idea when a situation like that might come up. Scott would tear the world apart to save Stiles and the rest of the wolves like Stiles, too. Hell, even _Peter_ likes Stiles; there’s always going to be someone who’s ready and willing to save him. Maybe Stiles doesn’t know that, though. Maybe Stiles just sees himself as dead weight that needs to learn how to be just a little more self sufficient…

But Derek still needs Stiles to learn how to keep from taking stupid risks. He lets the conversation lapse and bandages Stiles’s cut.

♦

Stiles starts texting all the time, asking when their first lesson will be and suggesting topics they can cover and stuff. It’s seriously annoying and Derek considers giving in just to make the torture stop. He’s stronger than that, though. He can bear a little annoyance.

But then Stiles gets the bright idea to start trying to _antagonize_ Derek into fighting him or something. Derek doesn’t even know, but it’s a stupid plan, whatever the intention is. He keeps socking Derek in the arm and trying to shove him and stuff. It seems playful or whatever, but it’s strange. No one does that kind of stuff with Derek. At least, not since Laura and even she was less playful after the fire.

Derek isn’t sure if he wants to enjoy it or if he wants to break Stiles’s arm to make him stop forever.

“Come on, Derek. Come on. You know you wanna,” Stiles taunts after one such shoving incident.

“What? What is it that I ‘wanna’, Stiles? Enlighten me.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You wanna _go_. Oh my _god_ , are you actually a robot? I have been trying to get you to roughhouse with me for _days_. I figured this would be easier for you than formal lessons or whatever.”

“Well, maybe I just don’t _want_ to roughhouse with you. Have you ever considered that?” Derek asks, glowering at Stiles.

Stiles juts his chin out a little bit and huffs crankily. “Seriously? You’re _seriously_ not gonna cave? All I want is to learn how to fight, dude, it’s not a big deal. I don’t know why you’re making it such an issue. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to learn how to take care of myself and I—I trust you not to hurt me. Not to _really_ hurt me, anyway. I thought you’d be cool about it, but I guess I was wrong. So sorry I’ve been bothering you. I guess I’ll take my annoying self elsewhere.”

Stiles turns to head for the loft door and Derek…

Derek feels himself crack. Damn Stiles for pulling out the _trust_ card. He sighs. “Meet me at the house tomorrow. Ten.”

“… What house?” Stiles asks.

Derek sighs. “ _My_ house.”

“In the _woods_? What are we gonna—Derek? _Derek_ …?”

But Derek’s already disappearing up the spiral staircase. He has to figure out how to teach a _human_ how to fight, when he’s only ever trained with other wolves. Oh, the human Hales got training, too, but they only trained with wolves who were totally in control of themselves and wouldn’t accidentally hurt anyone with fragile human bones. Derek was too young to have such good control then.

He’s not so sure he has enough control _now_.

♦

Stiles’s too loud Jeep pulls up outside the ruined shell of Derek’s childhood home at ten-oh-one and Derek lets himself look annoyed. Because he kind of is, anyway, and he wouldn’t like to give the impression that he’s going soft and allowing tardiness. Encouraging bad habits is the last thing he wants to do. Stiles tumbles awkwardly out of the Jeep, like always. Like the birth of some awkward animal that's all uncoordinated limbs. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie and he looks like he’s still at least half asleep.

“Whoever invented morning is the devil,” Stiles says.

“I’m pretty sure the sun invented morning.”

“Stupid sun… So, what are we doing at this godawful early hour on my oh so valuable Saturday?”

Derek hopes Stiles remembers he’s the one who asked for this. “We’re going running. Come on,” he says as he takes off at a reasonable jog.

Stiles scrambles to catch up. “Dude. What? This is not fighting. I wanted fighting.”

“Just shut up and run,” Derek says, rolling his eyes and focusing on the forest trail he’s had memorized since he was seven. He’s not going to explain things about endurance or about warming up or about taking baby steps; Stiles is just going to have to follow Derek’s directions.

Stiles does _not_ shut up. Instead, he just grumbles under his breath about the morning and about unnecessary running and about Derek being some kind of terrible drill sergeant. Whatever. Derek just tunes him out and enjoys the run, even if he _is_ running at a far slower pace than usual so Stiles can keep up.

He doesn’t make Stiles run for long. When they stop, they’re in front of the house again and Stiles is panting, his heart racing. He steps into the house and grabs some water out of a cooler he stashed there earlier. He tosses a bottle to Stiles. “Five minutes and then we move on.”

Stiles drinks greedily and then collapses in a panting heap on the ground. “You’re the devil.”

“You’re the one who asked for this,” Derek says, sitting on the porch steps and having a drink from his own bottle of water.

“I know, I know. I just—I thought we’d be doing punches and self defense stuff.”

Derek sighs. “We’ll get there.”

“What, are you gonna tell me that patience is a virtue? Or that Rome wasn’t built in a day? Because, let me tell you friend, you’re basically one of the least patient people I’ve ever met,” Stiles says, grinning crookedly up at the bright sky.

“This isn’t about me being patient. This is about me teaching you something; you have to go at the pace I set and you have to do the things I tell you to do. If you won’t, then we can stop now and I can find a better way to spend my time.”

Stiles rolls his eyes toward Derek. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

They don’t get to real fighting today. Instead, Derek just teaches Stiles about blocking. Most of it won’t work on someone much stronger than Stiles, on someone both stronger and intent to _kill_ Stiles, but it’s better than nothing. Stiles is pouting about his lack of offensive skills as he gets in the Jeep and heads home to shower off the sweat.

♦

It becomes a regular thing, sometimes multiple times a week. Stiles complains basically no matter what Derek does, but Derek finds himself less bothered by it with exposure. Maybe it’s just slowly driving him insane—Derek wouldn’t be surprised in the least.

It’s still a while before Derek goes beyond basic moves with Stiles, though. He just makes sure Stiles can throw a punch without breaking a wrist and knows how to use an attacker’s momentum to toss them over his hip. Which is kind of awkward for Derek to teach him, since that means Derek has to be the one thrown to the ground repeatedly until Stiles gets it. Whatever. Derek doesn't really mind. And then one afternoon, finally, they’re in a clearing in the woods with soft ground that will cushion Stiles’s inevitable falls. Stiles is excited. Derek can tell because Stiles is doing this thing where he bounces on the balls of his feet.

It’s not endearing at all…

“Alright. I’m gonna walk you through some moves slowly and then you’re gonna try ‘em. Got it?”

Stiles nods. “Totally, yeah. Let’s go.”

It’s over quicker than Derek indented, really. He meant to show Stiles more slowly. But he has Stiles pinned to the ground, blinking stupidly up at him.

“Um,” Stiles says. “Was I supposed to observe what just happened there? Because I totally didn’t. It was like I was standing one second and now I’m on the ground. I thought you were gonna go slowly, dude.”

Derek lets out an amused sound, a lupine sort of rumble. “Again. Slower this time, since you’re apparently incapable of following simple directions.”

Stiles laughs and knocks Derek off of him. Derek lets him.

♦

Stiles is a fast learner. He’ll never be able to beat Derek in a fistfight—Derek is just too strong and too fast for him—but Derek thinks Stiles could maybe take an average human. He actually breaks Derek’s nose once. Derek doesn’t mind, since it heals right away, but Stiles apologizes profusely.

Derek laughs as he mops the blood off his face and Stiles looks stunned for a moment before laughing, too.

♦

It’s when _Stiles_ accidentally gets hurt that Derek understands why Stiles was apologizing so much. God, Derek feels like _shit_.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, cradling his injured wrist as Derek ushers him into the passenger side of the Jeep. “You didn’t do it on purpose. I’m fine. Maybe it’s a sprain or something, but it’s not bad. I don’t even need to go to the hospital. Mrs. McCall is just gonna call my dad and it’s gonna be a huge hassle—”

Derek gets behind the wheel and drives. He obeys traffic laws, but just barely. “ _Stiles_. I’m taking you to the hospital and that’s final.”

Stiles huffs an exasperated sigh. “ _Derek_. I’m fine, I swear. I think I would know if I wasn’t okay. Don’t you think I’d know?”

“I think your definition of ‘okay’ is different than mine,” Derek says. “If you’re really okay, they’ll tell us. A professional is going to know better than you.”

“You’re just sorry you hurt me and are overcompensating with bossiness…”

It doesn’t sit well with Derek how true that is, so he just shuts his mouth. He doesn’t say anything even as he’s tugging Stiles out of the Jeep at the emergency room and dragging him inside.

It’s not until later, after Melissa has cleared Stiles of any real damage and wrapped his wrist in an ace bandage, when Derek drives Stiles’s Jeep to the Stilinski residence that he speaks again. He parks in the driveway. It’s not like a walk all the way back to the house to get his Camaro is really any trouble. It’s not like he has anything else to do really. His Betas are probably at his loft goofing around, doing teenager stuff… He shuts the Jeep off and passes the keys over to Stiles, sighing. “I’m sorry. That I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know that. Believe me, I’d have been a lot more difficult if I thought you did it on purpose,” Stiles says. He reaches over with his good hand and gives Derek a friendly push. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, dude.”

Derek has to be hard on himself. He has to keep control of himself, has to be strict and stoic and immovable. It’s some kind of twisted security blanket and he’s terrified of letting it go. But it’s been slipping away gradually ever since he came back to Beacon Hills. It’s like he doesn’t know which way is up anymore. But at least he has his pack and whatever this is with Stiles is… _nice_. It’s nice. He nods and gets out of the car, walks off out of Stiles’s line of sight and just watches for a few minutes to make sure Stiles gets inside alright.

♦

“Oh my god, did you see that?!”

“Yes, Stiles, we saw that,” Scott says with a happy grin. “And it was _awesome_. Way to go, dude.”

Derek is far less happy. Actually, he’s fuming mad. Stiles ran face first at danger _again_. Sure, he managed to distract the warlock long enough for Boyd to go around and take him down, but that’s beside the point. “Yeah, he almost gutted you with his athame. That was really _awesome_.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Come on, man, don’t be like that.”

“I’m not teaching you how to fight so you can run at a man who has a _knife_. Are you kidding me? You’re ridiculous. Our lessons are over until you grow the hell up and stop acting like you’re _immortal_.”

He stomps off in a well deserved righteous fury.

♦

He opens the loft door when Stiles knocks. Apparently, one night is long enough for Stiles to think on his behavior and realize how unnecessarily reckless he’s been. Derek just leans in the doorway and raises his brows expectantly at Stiles.

“Really?” Stiles says. “Are you gonna make me grovel?”

Derek remains silent, only blinking in response.

Stiles sighs. “Fine. I’m _sorry_ , okay? I’ll try to be less reckless in the future. Is that good enough? No? God, I don’t even know what you want from me. I didn’t think before I acted and, okay, I get that that’s probably the problem. I get that. But I was acting on instinct. That warlock was gonna whammy Isaac. I just—I had to stop it somehow. I felt justified in doing what I did. But now, after the fact, I realize that it wasn’t exactly very clever of me and that one of you guys would’ve done the same if I hadn’t gotten in the way. I’ll think more before I do something like that again. I’m supposed to be the smart one so I’d better start acting like it. Right?”

“Right,” Derek agrees. He thinks Stiles will still need a while for this lesson to be truly learned, but this is a good start. It's progress. Maybe Stiles will think twice before running towards a man who has a knife next time. “I’m making spaghetti.”

“… Congratulations?”

Derek scowls a little because, really, that was pretty blatant as far as invitations to dinner go. “Either come inside or don’t. Whatever,” he says, heading for his kitchen and leaving the door open. After a moment, Stiles follows and shuts the door.

♦

Their fighting lessons start back up again as normal after that, though Derek has had to reshuffle his schedule a little; the Betas want training, too. Derek should’ve been training them the whole time, should’ve been doing better with them. He’s going to try to be a better Alpha. They _deserve_ a better Alpha and he hopes to someday be good enough for them. But Stiles’s training is always going to be kept separate. He doesn’t really trust _himself_ to be careful with Stiles’s fragile human body—how on earth is he supposed to trust the Betas to be?

So Derek has _less_ time for Stiles, but that doesn’t mean they don’t make the most of it. It’s fun. Derek finds himself _playing_ with Stiles sometimes, just having fun. It’s nice and, Derek won’t admit to it, but he looks forward to the days he and Stiles meet up at the house.

One day, Stiles brings cookies. Apparently Stiles gets in baking moods and he says he can’t leave baked goods around the house or else his dad will eat them all. Derek certainly doesn’t mind sitting under the shade of the trees and eating Stiles’s cookies while they talk about nothing. It’s a talent, how much Stiles can talk without really saying anything of substance. They argue about which superheroes would win in a fight and over which sci-fi franchise is better.

They agree more often that Derek would’ve thought before their lessons started.

He’s not sure anymore if these days are training or play dates. He’s not sure he cares.

♦

On the jogging trail, Stiles tackles him. Derek isn’t expecting it and can’t brace against it, so they go over into the grass. He ends up on the bottom after they roll a few feet. Stiles is straddling him, grinning wide and pinning Derek’s wrists above his head. “Constant vigilance, Derek. Mad-Eye Moody would be super disappointed in you.”

“Wasn’t it actually Barty Crouch Jr. disguised by polyjuice potion who said that?”

“Semantics, you closet nerd,” Stiles says, grin going crooked in a way Derek would very much like to interpret as ‘fond’. “It’s good advice either way. Can’t believe you let me get the drop on you, dude.”

“Is this how we’re gonna do it from now on? Because I can absolutely sneak attack you all the time. You’ll know I’m coming, but you’ll still be taken by surprise,” Derek says, twisting his wrists in Stiles’s hold. He could break it easily, but he doesn’t feel like it right now. He’s content. “You just gonna sit on me or what?”

Stiles shrugs. “I’m comfy. If you want me to get off, I guess you’ll have to make me.”

Derek narrows his eyes a little bit. ‘Make me’ is a dare, right? Because it sounds like a dare and Derek never was very good at refusing those. He rolls them over and puts Stiles against the ground, settling between his spread legs and holding his arms against the ground.

It takes Derek a moment to realize the kind of position he’s put them in, but then he also notices the wonderful way Stiles _smells_ and the erratic beat of Stiles's heart. Oh. _Oh_. Well, somehow Derek didn’t really expect this. He’d hoped, maybe, but never _expected_ …

“Oh my god, Derek, if you don’t kiss me soon I might die from how long I’ve been waiting,” Stiles says, squeezing Derek’s hips with his knees.

Well, okay then. Derek leans in and runs his nose along Stiles’s jaw for a moment, both to smell Stiles more and to nuzzle at him a little. Whatever, Stiles doesn’t need to know about werewolf gestures of affection.

But then Stiles smushes his lips and nose against Derek’s cheek like he understands werewolf mannerisms just fine. It’s so good that it makes Derek’s eyes flare bright as he finally, _finally_ kisses Stiles. It’s somewhere between uncertain, because this is their first kiss, and _desperate_. Derek didn’t even know he wanted this so badly, that he was desperate for it at all. He didn’t allow himself to think about it and so it’s like some kind of revelation to him now.

At least it sounds like Stiles is desperate, too, if that groan of his is anything to go by or the way Stiles is squirming underneath of him. He’s trying to say something, though, so Derek pulls back to scowl at him a little. “What?”

Stiles laughs breathlessly. “Arms. Gimme back my arms, man, I wanna touch you.”

Derek blinks down at Stiles and thinks about that for all of half a second before releasing Stiles’s wrists. Stiles puts his hands on Derek then, clutching at his shoulder and nape.

“Alright, let the kissing continue,” Stiles says with an impatient shimmy.

Derek gives up on thinking and just kisses Stiles again. It's easy to follow orders right now. He tastes Stiles’s mouth and lowers his weight down onto Stiles, grinding against him and growling a little when Stiles hooks a leg over his hip. It’s all he can do to keep himself from taking Stiles right here in the grass. The way Stiles is pawing at Derek’s shirt isn’t helping, either, though maybe the smell of Stiles’s lust is what’s most trying to endure.

While Derek is leaving a hickey the size of Texas on Stiles’s neck, and thinking thoughts along the lines of _mine mine mine_ , Stiles is moaning loudly and babbling. He doesn’t think Stiles is even really aware of the filthy things he’s saying. And then Stiles is shoving his hands between them and fumbling at Derek’s fly. Reluctantly, Derek pulls back and catches Stiles’s hands.

“What?” Stiles asks, beautiful brown eyes blown wide with lust. “No stopping. Why are you stopping? Stopping is not on our itinerary, Derek, oh my god.”

“We’re not stopping,” Derek says. “We’re relocating. Next time you wanna have sex in the woods, you should really bring lube.”

He stands and hauls Stiles over his shoulder, totes him back to the cars. Stiles just laughs and gropes Derek’s ass with both hands. Derek doesn't mind that at all.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [tumblr](http://thevoiceofwrath.tumblr.com), let's be bros ♥


End file.
